Another day in the asylum our country has become
I don't know if you've heard, y'all, but Shit be Cray.
The first hundred days mark has come and gone, and the Candycorn Skidmark gave a bunch of interviews, trying to pitch the American public the idea that what had been keeping America from being Great Again was too many national parks and too little coal ash in our drinking water. Instead, he reminded everyone what a horrifyingly perfect collision of malicious stupidity of unearned self-regard he possesses, like a Reese's cup of Qualities You Don't Want in an American President. He assured us his health care bill would do something that it demonstrably does not do, spewed some nonsense about Andrew Jackson and all the slaves he owned preventing the Civil War, and MY favorite, on being confronted with his horseshit accusations of being wiretapped by his predecessor, petulantly ended the interview, saying "I don't stand by anything," which should be the banner on his family crest (Which is a picture of a fat asshole golfing while everyone laughs at his tiny, tiny hands).
Also, the Man With a Cancer-filled Scrotum For a Heart continues to reshape America's foreign policy like a guy getting a little too into playing Germany in a game of Axis & Allies. Having insulted the leaders of Germany and Italy to their faces in front of the media during their White House visits, Il Douche heaps praise on autocratic monsters like The Philippines' Rodrigo Duterte, who has turned his country in a murder-ridden hellhole, and Turkey's Tayyip Erdoğan, who is such a good friend to our nation he just had a bunch of our closest allies in Syria killed. Hell, Donnie even talked about how "honored" he'd be to meet Kim Jong Un, because undermining decades of unified international isolation of that lunatic regime without giving a fleeting moment's thought to the consequence is JUST HOW HE ROLLS, BITCHES!
For reasons you'd need a small army of psychiatric professionals to explain, the House GOP continues to attempt to whip votes for the Mass Murder of the America Poor Act, or what they'd have you call the "AHCA." To placate the rabies-infected clown car known as the Freedom Caucus, Paul Ryan added some "sweeteners" to the bill, if "sweeteners" means "human corpses." The new version is even grosser and more needlessly pain-inflicting than the original, kind of like the Anne Heche PSYCHO remake, only you die instead of just wanting to for a couple hours. What's extra-strange about all this is these twits have ample evidence available to them that the American people don't want them to take away millions of folks' health care (HUH) and will punish them electorally if they keep trying to. It's like watching a dude hit himself in the temple with a ball peen hammer over and over, wondering why it isn't teaching him how to play the bassoon. Anyway, the "no" votes keep piling up, so it looks like the Freedom Caucusers are gonna wind up with blue balls again, so they'll just have to get together in Ted Cruz's basement to circle jerk to the chapter in The Grapes of Wrath when Jim Casy gets killed.
Former Castle Garden Gnome Brought to Life By a Witch's Curse Who Then Went Into the World to Make His Fortune Laundering Money for Russian Oligarchs and Wasn't Around When the Beast's Curse Was Lifted and Thus Has Been Unable to Regain Human Form Wilbur Ross, who is our Commerce Secretary for some reason, told a super funny joke about how launching the air strike on Syria was super-fun after-dinner "entertainment" at Marm-a-Lago, and it was especially great because "it didn't cost the President anything," HAW HAW HAW, except that it cost all us chump taxpayers tens of millions of dollars and the Syrian Air Force was launching strikes from the base we hit less than a day later, so they joke was apparently on us HAW H...heh...hee?
The best news this week has been the spending bill, which, despite Republican control of the entire government, looks more like Democratic budget than it has any right to. The team that worked out the compromise took Mr. Big Bad Negotiator, Mr. Shart of the Deal's Big Important Budget Proposal and put in on rolls for the Capitol Hill restrooms. Then they took Fake Wonk Paul Ryan's document, looked at all the things he wanted, and just said "Nah," over and over until he disappeared in a puddle screaming "What a world, what a world." If negotiations ever got too heated, Chuck Schumer would just hold up a cheap paper mask on a popsicle stick of Mark Meadows' face and remind "Speaker" Ryan that he was welcome to try to find enough republican votes to pass his bill. They kept Planned Parenthood's money, gave Drumpf much smaller increases than he wanted and blocked the majority of his proposed cuts (to say nothing of genuinely important funding for coal miners' health care and for Puerto Rico). They even secured INCREASES in funding for the NEA and NIH because FUCK YOU DONNIE THAT'S WHY.
Most hilariously, they insisted on language that says "By the way, under no circumstances is anybody allowed to use one thin dime for any Mexican border walls any spraytanned dickheads might be thinking about building." And they're gonna make that Assclown sign it.
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH
Like, Chuck and Nancy are gonna march that bill into the Oval with Mitch McConnell on a leash with a ball gag in his mouth, Schumer's gonna stinkpalm him, and everybody'll take selfies with Shartboy holding the page that says NO WALL MONEY, FUCKO, and then Steny Hoyer's just gonna whip it out and piss right in the middle of the fucking room, and as they're walking out they'll draw everybody's attention to a rider nobody mentioned before that says Steve Bannon has to do the truffle shuffle before he's allowed in the building from now on. And just before she leaves, Pelosi'll say, without even facing him, "You can sit at the Resolute Desk, but that don't make you President, Son."
In the background, suddenly everybody from Pelosi to Samantha Bee is talking about how much they miss George W, which makes you wonder if, in a decade or so, Republican voters will deliver us into the arms of some monstrous fuckstick who'll make us long for these days of nonstop careening madness. It'd have to be some drunken, illiterate, Volcano God who demands regular human sacrifices, I guess.
And every couple of weeks, the Washington Post will track down some yokel who just had his wife and daughters tied to a stone slab and bled out, and he'll say "That Volcano God tells it like it is, man. Plus he promised me a high paying job. And a slave."
= new reply since forum marked as read
I hope you're young and will live and write for a long, long time.
These are amazing, incisive, astonishing, IMPORTANT essays.
Thank You.
You got it, thanks 
STOP IT THEFERRET, YER KILLING ME 
